


Maximillion Pegasus, MD, PhD

by Draconicmaw



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bipolar II Disorder, D.I.D., Dissociative Identity Disorder, Everyone else is a patient, Gambling Addiction, Multiple Personalities, Psychiatrist Mai, Psychiatrist Pegasus, Sex Addiction, Tolerable!Pegasus, Tourette Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draconicmaw/pseuds/Draconicmaw
Summary: Maximillion Pegasus loves other people's drama. It's probably why he became a psychiatrist. Any way which, he's damn good at his job. AU, without all the Millennium Items and Shadow Games. Also, Tolerable!Pegasus. Or where I give various YGO characters various psychoses.





	1. Dissociative Identity Disorder

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly ponderous and exploratory on my part. Hope you enjoy the ride.

Doctor Pegasus primly crossed one leg over the other. “Make yourself comfortable, Mister Muto.”

The boy inclined his head. He sank gracefully into the armchair. He crossed his arms, stared Pegasus straight in the eyes.

Pegasus thought he knew, but it was always a good idea to check… “To whom am I speaking?”

A blink. “The Pharaoh.”

* * *

 

Notes scrawled down the pad in loopy, sensuous pen strokes. Whimsical cartoons danced along the margins.

_Rarely does the main personality inherently know of any identity anomalies._

_Yugi Muto is a study in exceptions._

* * *

 

“Ah, it is good to see you,” Pegasus greeted, though he eyed the boy before him keenly. “I know it is not always the case for you two, but I must ask, what drew you out today?”

* * *

 

_Often, the identity anomaly surfaces when the main personality dissociates, when it needs to draw away to cope. Again, Yugi Muto is a study in exceptions._

* * *

 

“The Pharaoh” seemed to become more comfortable; he relaxed back into his chair, leaned on the arm rest a little. His posture loosened. “It's been a while since I've had control of our body. Yugi was feeling guilty.” His fingers drummed on his biceps. “He also thought I should speak with you again.”

Pegasus nodded, scribbled down a few notes. Sharp eyes watched the motion of the pen.

* * *

 

_Often, though one might not consider it ‘typical’ for this condition, the identities have limited communication. This is often because the other personalities are not conscious if they are not in control of their body. So, some subjects communicate with their other personalities via notes they leave on their person._

_Meanwhile, Yugi is generally conscious when ‘The Pharaoh’ is at the helm, and vice versa._

_For this subject, blackouts are a rare occurrence._

* * *

 

“I'm always here if you need someone to talk to,” Pegasus reminded. “I understand your bond with Yugi is strong, but it is good to extend your support system to others.”

The Pharaoh nodded, rubbed a palm hard on his thigh. “I know. I simply find it hard… I…” He took a deep breath. “I don't belong. I don't belong living Yugi's life for him.”

Pegasus tilted his head. “You may be two different identities, but you are not different people. You have always been a part of Yugi. You will _always_ be a part of Yugi. You simply diverged to help cope with the trauma you have been through.”

* * *

 

_Like most identity anomalies, ‘The Pharaoh’ arose from a time of great mental strife. Numerous times Yugi has recounted tales of the unbelievable torture he faced at the hands of his classmates._

_The experiences profoundly shaped the personality of Yugi's protector identity, The Pharaoh. The world for The Pharaoh is in stark black and white. There is right, and there is wrong. There is no in-between. The very naivety of his ideals contrast against his seemingly mature conduct (versus Yugi's childlike energy). He especially finds disdain in any oppression of any sort. Bigotry or bullying will immediately scratch your name onto his blacklist._

_One does not want to be on The Pharaoh's blacklist._

* * *

 

The Pharaoh considered these words quietly.

* * *

 

_\-- Yugi is one of my favorite patients (I know that's unethical, but hear me out), simply because both of his identities are so attentive and willing to listen, to consider everything on such a visceral level --_

* * *

 

“You have every right to experience life as Yugi does, simply because you _are_ Yugi.” Pegasus leaned his jaw on his knuckles. “In a perfect world, you never would have separated. You would be one whole personality.”

A twitch of the lip, a glimpse of a frown. “This world is far from perfect.”

Pegasus conceded with an incline of the chin. “That much is glaringly true. This world is _not_ rainbows and daisies and bunnies. It is merciless, it is gritty, it is dirty, and it is tainted. But that is not all it is. There is good in this world. There is much joy to be found here. _But_ , no matter the state of our existence, you cannot shield Yugi forever.”

The Pharaoh gulped, nodded.

“You worry about whether or not you belong in Yugi's shoes. You do. But understand, without your part incorporated into the whole, Yugi cannot cope with this world in a healthy manner.”

The Pharaoh held his face in his hands. “What happens when Yugi doesn't need me anymore?”

Pegasus resisted the urge to cluck in reprimand. “Yugi will always need you. You are his _strength_ , his courage. If you fear the sudden end to your own existence, know that will never come. The endeavor with treatment like this is to make you whole again. To heal the fray.”

“Whole again…” The Pharaoh murmured.

* * *

 

_Though I'm not sure I can say Yugi is the most compelling of my D.I.D. patients._


	2. Bipolar II Disorder

Pegasus made sure to take a long drink of water before his next patient arrived. Yugi and The Pharaoh were a good way to start his day, but he was thankful to get a short break before his next subject had his appointment.

* * *

_In all truth if the matter, I'm amazed Seto Kaiba returns for more appointments._

* * *

The tall figure strode in and slammed the door behind him. It was a wonder the ornate wood never cracked with the frequency and force with which the man greeted it.

“Hello, Kaiba,” Pegasus said. It still felt strange to refer to a patient in such formal manners. But, it was what the man had requested.

“Hn,” he grunted, stood awkwardly behind the armchair.

Pegasus didn't bother to invite Kaiba to sit. He would do it on his own, when he became comfortable enough. “How was your morning so far?”

“Typical,” Kaiba grunted, checked his watch.

Pegasus knew Kaiba didn't have somewhere else to be. But, he did need some discourse to start. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“I wish.” Hiss-like. “I'm only here for Mokuba.”

* * *

_While Seto Kaiba is a successful businessman (multi-billionaire, it should be noted), his main motivation for anything and everything is the wellbeing of his younger brother, Mokuba Kaiba. I doubt that Seto Kaiba would seek treatment for his condition otherwise._

* * *

One thing that made Pegasus so good at his job was his observational skills. Not many things could slip past his keen eye. “How did you sleep last night?”

“I didn't,” Seto Kaiba responded shortly.

Pegasus hummed, subtly scratched some notes down. “How much work did you get done?”

“I'm ahead by two weeks.”

* * *

_Insomnia and hypomanic episodes are two very key symptoms of Bipolar II Disorder. Unfortunately for Seto Kaiba, these symptoms typically occur simultaneously. The inability to sleep and a sudden, inhuman burst of energy and the desire to do make Kaiba quite the nocturnal worker._

* * *

“How often have you been working at night since last we met?”

* * *

_At least when it comes to Kaiba, I must approach all inquiries delicately. He is still in denial of his condition, and any wayward suggestion of an 'episode’ could trigger an explosive reaction._

* * *

“Six days,” Kaiba answered.

They’d last met two weeks ago. “Were any of these consecutive?” Pegasus inquired.

“No,” Kaiba replied. He finally drifted around to sit in the armchair.

“How have you been coping with these sleepless nights?”

Kaiba's jaw suddenly tensed. “Fine.”

“No sleepiness during the day? Even on days when your nights went smoothly?”

“None.”

* * *

_Hypersomnia. Excessive sleepiness during the day. Despite his recurring hypomanic episodes, Seto Kaiba never seems to experience it. Or perhaps he never allows himself to do so. Even I find it hard to tell, sometimes. The man drinks enough coffee that it probably makes up a vast majority of his body composition._

* * *

Pegasus made a small noise in his throat and marked on his paper. Blue eyes watched his squiggling pen, hawk-like. “Pardon, it slipped my mind to ask, but how is Mokuba doing?”

* * *

_\-- Kaiba had disclosed to me that it was a tradeoff; he would seek professional help under the condition that his little brother would, too. Initially, they had both come to me for treatment. Unfortunately, I am not confident in my ability to keep the two cases separate, so I referred Mokuba Kaiba to Doctor Mai Valentine, a skilled psychiatrist and my close associate --_

Under scribbles, letters were barely legible,

_~~Sometimes I think I picked the wrong brother.~~ _

* * *

~~~~Kaiba’s lip twitched, and Pegasus feared he had mis-stepped, after all of this progress.

But then Kaiba sat down, rested his elbows on his knees, tightly knotted his hands together.

“We had an… argument,” Kaiba said through gritted teeth. He shook his head. “No, that’s fucking wrong. I just fucking snapped on him.”

* * *

_Mood swings. The most telltale symptom of any Bipolar Disorder. They can be triggered by nearly anything. A change in weather. A change in hormones. Life events. Drugs and alcohol. Stress. Without knowing an individual subject’s tendencies, the potential catalysts are endless._

* * *

“What happened leading up to that moment?” Pegasus asked, not asking yet what exactly happened. Pegasus knew he needed to approach this delicately.

Kaiba rubbed a long-fingered hand over his face. “I'd had a long day. I… wasn't feeling like myself. Like anyone.”

Pegasus jotted some notes down.

“I didn't want to talk to anyone. I… I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to lie down and not think about anything or anyone.” He kept his hand pressed to his face. “I don't even know what he said to me.”

Pegasus noted the twitching fingers.

“I don't even know what _I_ said to _him_.”

Pegasus felt his brow furrow with sympathy.

“I'm… tired. So tired.”

* * *

_It's amazing how a man that has it all can suffer so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally feel like this fits Seto very well. My personal opinion, though. We’ll flesh out his case more later.


	3. Sex and Gambling Addiction

Pegasus drummed the end of his pen on his desk. He reviewed some notes, filled out some forms. He occasionally took a bite from his lunch, a Caesar salad.

It was a quiet lunch break.

He looked up, and the picture frame on the corner of his desk caught his eye. With a small, fond smile, he adjusted it. The slanting sunlight shining through the window caught on the blonde hair of the two women in the picture.

The phone on his desk rang.

He picked it up. "Doctor Maximillion Pegasus speaking."

The voice coming on through the speaker trembled. "I fell off the wagon, Doc." A shaky breath. "Do you have any availabilities today?"

Pegasus froze, then immediately turned to his schedule. The emergency appointment slot for that day was still open. "I do, Duke. Can you come in in about an hour?"

* * *

_Addiction cases are always difficult, for both myself and my patient. Nothing much matches the frustration of relapse._

* * *

Pegasus readied all of his emergency supplies. Water, tissues, even a blanket for comfort. When Duke Devlin crashed, he crashed with all the devastation of a sixty-mile-wide asteroid.

* * *

_The playboy lifestyle, for many, can have many negative impacts. Dependency can blossom so easily in the chaos. Alcohol, drugs, even to the thrill of the lifestyle itself._

_But for Duke Devlin, his Achilles Heel has become sex and gambling._

* * *

Duke Devlin came in, long black hair wet from a recent shower. The typical thick black liner around his striking green eyes was missing, replaced with swollen, puffy redness. His outfit, normally a careful construction of designer brands and pleasing colors, consisted of a baggy T-shirt and torn jeans (it should be noted that "torn" did not mean artistically so - these were haggard with use and from restless, picking hands).

At the sight of Pegasus, reclined patiently in his chair, the tears started again.

* * *

_I've noticed, from my years of experience working with addicts, that sex addictions are some of the hardest to treat. I am by no means saying that it is more dangerous than, say, a methamphetamine dependency, but sex addicts often believe_ _ that they do not need treatment. _

_They hardly see a problem until their lives fall apart, sometimes until they are riddled with disease._

_Duke Devlin had to lose everything before he saw how far he fell._

* * *

Pegasus offered the box of tissues.

With shaking hands, Duke accepted it.

His slim shoulders shook with sobs.

Pegasus frowned with sympathy, but refused the urge to physically comfort his patient.

"How much this time?" Pegasus asked when Duke managed to somehow pull himself together.

"A… a hundred thousand," he choked.

"What compelled you to gamble this time?" Pegasus asked, blunt.

* * *

_If I expect Duke Devlin to be blunt with me, I must be blunt with him._

* * *

"I…" A slender hand twisted in the dark hair dangling in Duke's face. "I thought… what would one time hurt?"

"And then it turned into more than one time," Pegasus guessed.

"I thought, I didn't spend much… I could, I could get it back…"

* * *

_The root of a gambling addiction is easier to identify than that of a sex addiction. Often, it's the thrill of winning, paired with the misguided notion of 'winning back' what they had lost._

_Duke Devlin is much the same._

* * *

He wiped his eyes with a tissue. "And then I kept spiraling from there." A shuddering, wet inhale. "I don't even know his name…"

Pegasus spoke with the gentlest voice he could muster, "Who's name, Duke?" Though he already knew the answer.

That damp hair fell further over a stricken face. "The man I slept with." He sniffed, turned his face into his bicep for a moment. "He probably told me. But I didn't care, didn't listen." A flash of teeth bared in a self-loathing sneer. "I hate that it feels so good."

* * *

_It isn't the first time that I wondered if people are simply addicted to_ _ letting _ _  go _ _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooof. I seem incapable of writing something light-hearted for this.


	4. Generic Counseling

After Duke Devlin left, Pegasus sat back in his chair and scrubbed his face with his hand.

What a long day. And it wasn't over yet.

He looked at his wristwatch. Half an hour. He had half an hour to file away his notes for Duke Devlin.

He’d rest. Just for a minute.

Just for a minute…

* * *

A firm rapping on his door awakened him. Pegasus jolted up straight, back cracking. Delirious, he looked at his watch.

“Dammit,” he hissed, and he rushed over to his desk to swap out his folders. “Just one moment!”

He looked his in pocket mirror, adjusted his hair and made sure he didn’t drool all over himself in his sleep. Composed, he walked to the heavy wooden door. Rebecca, the receptionist, stood beyond the threshold, a worried look on her face, and Tristan Taylor, his next patient, hovered behind her.

“Hey, Doc!” Tristan said, obviously happy to see him.

* * *

_My patients aren’t always ones with psychoses and disorders. One does not need a clinical diagnosis to want or need therapy or counseling. It’s perfectly acceptable to want a third party to which you want to vent your problems and stresses. In fact, my career began with simple counseling before I became more involved in the darker aspects of psychiatry._

* * *

“How have you been, Tristan? It’s been a little while since you’ve scheduled an appointment,” Pegasus said, and he gestured to the armchair, an invitation for Tristan to sit.

“I’ve been pretty good, actually. I’ve been getting a lot done, too,” Tristan said, eagerly settling his long frame into the seat.

“You know, you don’t have to be having problems to visit me. I like hearing good news just as much as the next person.”

* * *

_As much as I hate to admit it, patients like Tristan are more stress-free. Their treatment has a lot less pressure, and I feel freer in our appointments than with my patients with more… serious conditions._

The next words were smudged.

_~~Though it can get achingly boring sometimes.~~ _

* * *

~~~~Tristan laughed. “Now you’re just trying to squeeze the money out of me.”

“Ah, you caught me,” Pegasus said with a sigh of mock disappointment.

Tristan’s health insurance covered all the costs from his visits.

Pegasus sat, set his notebook on his knee. He clicked his pen out of habit.

* * *

_Tristan has problems the ‘average Joe’ could related to. It’s relieving, when all day I could be surrounded by people who have split personalities or addictions of some sorts._

* * *

Tristan sat back and discussed his last few weeks, from a date that he had to troubles he encountered with motorcycles in his shop. Pegasus listened intently, and the pair laughed along with the occasional joke. While Tristan talked, Pegasus felt a moment of clarity.

* * *

_Tristan Taylor makes me realize that, sometimes, even I need someone to talk to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this story was originally supposed to be cracky humor stuff. That, obviously, did not turn out like I thought it would. But I’m glad you guys are still enjoying this!


	5. Alcoholism

Doctor Pegasus frowned at the next block in his schedule. The next patient was one of the most difficult, and, depending on the day, could easily take the cake from a certain Seto Kaiba.

"Bandit" Keith Howard.

* * *

_ Three consecutive DUIs and he was relegated to court-ordered Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and psychiatric counseling. _

_ The man abhors every minute of it. _

* * *

Rebecca welcomed the man in, her face a red hue. No doubt he had grumbled very loudly the entire walk down the hallway.

"Good afternoon, Keith," Pegasus greeted calmly. 

"Ugh, you," Keith grunted.

"Yes, me. You do realize you won't be getting rid of me anytime soon?" 

"I know and I hate it."

Pegasus but down on a scathing remark, something along the lines of  _ if you would just stay sober you wouldn't have to deal with me _ .

"Take a seat," he said instead. "Get comfortable."

"Don't mind if I do." He proceeded to sprawl out his large frame on the chair in a very undignified manner, but, as always, Pegasus didn't let it faze him.

* * *

_ From my experience in the field, alcoholism arises as a very unstable coping mechanism. It's a distraction, something to numb the pain and hopefully let the victim let go for a little while. In fact, many professionals call it 'self-medicating,' even if it is with alcohol and not some other form of drug. _

_ As smoothly as Keith Howard likes to play it off, he was many troubles to numb himself from. _

* * *

Pegasus looked down, where one of Keith's hands fumbled with something. 

"What do you have there?"

Keitb's blue eyes remained impassive. "My four months sober coin." He held it up between forefinger and thumb. Surely, it was nearly brand-new, but the surface was rubbed smooth already.

Pegasus barely managed to keep his face from showing his surprise. Not because of the coin itself, but from Keith's…  _ sentimentality  _ over it.

* * *

_ Keith Howard does not think himself an alcoholic, or at least one that required treatment. Quite honestly, he believes the whole thing to be some joke or farce. _

_ At least, that's what I used to believe. _

* * *

"Some shit happened at my shitty job the other day," Keith began, unprompted. "When I came home, all I wanted was a glass of brandy and some mind-numbing TV show." He flipped the coin between his knuckles rather skillfully. "But when I took my coat off,  _ this  _ fell out of my pocket." He shook his head, a sharp smile on his stubbled face. 

Pegasus sat in stunned silence as Keith continued talking.

"I know what you think. I know what you all think," Keith said. "You think I'm just some drunk. Some worthless scum who can't pass a day without putting a fucking bottle to my mouth." He flipped the coin and caught it mid-air. "And I thought, fucking hell, I was tired of proving you all right. Tired of being a failure." He laughed, a dark, hateful sound. "God, it fucking stings to admit it, but I've never felt so good in years. Physically, at least." Keith resumed twirling the coin between his knuckles. "And I realized that four months isn't enough. I want more. I want a five month coin, a six month coin, a year coin, and I want to fucking rub them in all your faces."

* * *

_ Alcoholism is a habit. A very bad habit, to say the least. The only way to break a habit is to replace it with a different one. _

_ With Keith, I tried to find a suitable replacement for his drinking habit, a replacement that would be just as rewarding but much healthier than alcohol. _

_ In all my time as his psychiatrist, I tried to no avail. _

_ But it seems Kaith has found one himself, bitter as it may be.  _

_ Finally, he has found an anchor on his voyage to recovery. _

* * *

"So, when you feel the need to drink, you…" Pegasus made a vague gesture to the way Keith continued to fiddle with the coin.

The man lifted a broad shoulder. "More or less. I also find myself drinking tea. Which I find myself liking more than I thought I would." 

Pegasus hummed, intrigued, and resisted the urge to chuckle.

He imagined a bug man like Keith holding a tiny, delicate tea cup. 

"What kind of tea?"

"Earl Grey."

"Good choice."

"Thanks."

* * *

_ More often than not, I am simply a facilitator, a vague guide. _

_ People find their own ways to cope. But I'll always be here if everything comes crashing down. _


	6. Dissociative Identity Disorder

The wine gleamed burgundy in the low light of his study. He swirled the liquid around in the glass thoughtfully before taking a short sip. He was in for a long day tomorrow. He sighed quietly, and traced a finger along framed face in the photograph on the end table. 

Maximillion Pegasus, like every night for the past eight years, went to be alone that night. But still there was a ring on the third finger of his left hand.

* * *

_ He technically isn’t my patient anymore. _

* * *

Birds chirped brightly in the early morning, and pebbles crunched under the soles of his loafers. The he looked up at the building, oddly cheerful in the rising sun. 

Domino City’s Mental Health Institution.

The light spring breeze tugged on his silvery hair and brushed across his face. For a moment, the scars were revealed -- clawlike, gouging over one eye. An eye now sightless.

* * *

_ Some of my colleagues, including Doctor Mai Valentine, find  _ _ me _ _ to be a little insane after what this man had done to me. But I can’t help but find his condition utterly fascinating. _

* * *

He walked sanguinely up the sidewalk, to the stairs. A woman with rather pronounced dark circles around her eyes -- she was probably at the end of her shift -- sat at the reception desk. She perked up immediately. 

“Doctor Pegasus, good morning!” she chirped.

“Hello, Mana. It  _ is _ quite beautiful out today,” he commented. “Night shift again?”

She pouted and nodded.

He laughed softly. “I certainly don’t miss those days.”

“Lucky,” and then she straightened a little. “Are you here to see…?”

“Mister Bakura? Indeed,” he answered matter-of-factly. “He’s normally up around this time, is he not?”

“Yes, but, it’s --” she started, flushing.

Pegasus gave an understanding nod. “The Thief.” His fine-boned hands clenched at his sides to resist touching his face, his scars. “I would still like to see him.”

Mana gulped, her hazel eyes straying to wear his hair draped down over half of his face before she was making a call. 

Doctor Pegasus tipped his head back a bit to look at the beautiful landscape paintings hanging on the upper walls. Some of them were painted by his own hand. Donations. A place like this needed some sort of beauty amongst all the misery.

“Doctor,” Mana called softly. “They’re ready to see you now.”

Pegasus began his walk to the back and gave Mana an elegant finger-wave. “Go home and get some rest, dear. Eight hours of sleep is needed for optimal mental performance,” he sang.

“Have a good day, Doctor!”

“You as well, Mana.”

He passed through the double doors, and before long, he ran into Doctor Shadi.

* * *

_ Doctor Shadi is a psychiatrist specializing in dissociative identity disorder and other dissociative disorders. In fact, it was under his recommendation that Yugi become my patient. I suppose with the patient I gave him, it was a rather stinted trade-off. _

* * *

“Hello, Pegasus. You’ve come on a bad day,” he said quietly, already looking haggard. Or maybe he, too, had been working a late shift. 

“I always seem to, don’t I?” Pegasus replied, frowning at his colleague with sympathy. “Mana told me that The Thief is at the helm today.”

“Yes, and he’s in a particular… mood,” Shadi said, rather vaguely. But Pegasus understood all too well. 

“Good thing for you, ‘moods’ just so happen to be my specialty,” Pegasus said. 

Shadi didn’t laugh. He generally wasn’t the laughing type, and, after all the things he’d dealt with, it was more than understandable.

Shadi sighed. “Well, this way.”

Pegasus followed, though he could’ve walked the route in his sleep. 

“You know how much I hate using restraints on my patients, but I would rather have a bound patient than injured nurses.”

“It’s a necessary trade-off,” Pegasus admitted. He did not envy Shadi one bit. Pegasus would rather not deal with physically unstable patients. He had enough scars.

They entered a room, and through glass, Pegasus could see his former patient.

“Bakura,” Shadi said calmly after pressing the intercom button. “Doctor Pegasus is here to see you.”

A growl was audible, and the white-clad shoulders shifted with the drawn breath. The long white hair tumbled down his back in unkempt waves. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing away from the glass. But Pegasus could still see the buckles.

A straitjacket.

* * *

_ Despite their appearance in popular culture, straitjackets are hardly used anymore, and even less so by psychiatric institutions. Companies that manufacture them often sell less than a hundred units per year. Mostly, they are used in prisons and jails, and, since they are hardly ever put into practice, they hardly ever need replacing. _

_ Psychiatric institutions such as DCMHI are much more concerned with their patient’s personal liberties than in decades past. Straitjackets are seen as cruel and dehumanizing, and, in general, I agree. _

_ But The Thief is a strange individual. _

_ The saying “Mind over matter” has never been truer than with this personality anomaly. Ryou Bakura, the man personality, would be as easily incapacitated by tranquilizers and sedatives as you or I. But The Thief personality has a bizarre immunity to any and all psychotropic drugs. Despite Ryou’s small, fragile frame, The Thief has incredible physical strength, much like a rabid animal. There is no other choice than to use debilitating restraints on him. _

* * *

That was the only response, and Shadi and Pegasus shared a look. Pegasus pressed the button. “How are you today, Bakura?”

* * *

_ While The Thief himself told us that was his title, in recent years, he’s responded best to “Bakura,” though in most documentation he is known by his moniker to clarify which personality is being referred to. _

* * *

Bakura whipped his head over, matted hair flashing, and glared with unsettling intensity through the glass. “Could be fucking better, you know?” 

* * *

_ Ryou Bakura is by far the most mild-mannered young man I have ever met. How an anomaly like The Thief came about, I do not know. Under my treatment, anytime I came close to revealing the moment of initial dissociation, The Thief would surface and lash out. _

_ Ryou never remembers the moments when The Thief is in control, and, even more frightening still, The Thief has made a hobby of masquerading as Ryou, making him even more unpredictable than thought possible. _

_ I’d always found it strange how the split seemed to want so much to be the other personality. _

* * *

Pegasus laughed off the blazing hate, which always caught Bakura’s attention. With some awkward shuffling, the patient was fully facing the glass. 

“I hate you,” he growled. “You look like an idiot with that garish suit.”

Pegasus didn’t bother to look down at his clothing. “I rather like this shade of red.”

“I should’ve tried to rip your throat out when I had the chance.”

“You got an eye, isn’t that good enough?” Pegasus joked, though pins and needles thrummed down the back of his neck.

“Not if I don’t have a matching set.” A snarl of a smile. “I’m a bit of a completionist, you see.”

“Please don’t provoke him,” Shadi murmured.

Pegasus gave him a reassuring glance, and took his hand off the button. “I’m just humoring him a little. It can go a long way with him.”

Shadi shook his head slowly. “Why do you still come here to visit him?”

Pegasus lifted a shoulder. “He intrigues me.”

* * *

_ Perhaps I’m just obsessed with the puzzles I can’t solve, the patients I can’t heal. _

_ The people I can’t help. _

_ Or maybe the darkest parts of the darkest people make me feel better about my own flaws.  _

_ I have a biased opinion though, and should leave the psychoanalysis of my own mental state to someone else. _


	7. Tourette Syndrome

Pegasus took a short lunch break before his next patient. He sat at the counter in the small kitchenette of the practice. A salad sat before him. Sleeves primly rolled back, he picked at the lettuce with his fork.

Mai swept in, dangling earrings and colorful scarves. She immediately filled her giant thermos (possibly thirty-two fluid ounce) with piping hot coffee. No creamer and no sugar, she twisted its lid shut.

Pegasus winged a brow up, but said nothing as he continued eating.

She sat on the stool next to him. “How was your day so far?”

Pegasus considered it a moment as he stared at a bright red cherry tomato impaled on the silver fork. He turned the tiny fruit and watched its firm skin gleam. “Sobering. Yours?”

She chugged some of her coffee. “Would be okay if I weren't so tired.”

Max fought hard to keep himself from slipping into psychiatrist mode. “Long night?”

“Yeah. Valon and I argued again last night. The sex might have made up for some things, but it didn't make up for the lost time for sleep.”

Max gestured with his fork for her to continue. No way he was going to miss out on the juicy details. 

Maximillion Pegasus  _ loved  _ the juicy details.

As they were about to part ways for their respective appointments, Mai pursed her lips. “You’ve got that cute blond next, don’t you?”

Max only winged up one silver eyebrow.

Mai clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Man, if I weren’t with Valon, I would be on that like white on rice.”

“You could stand to use a bit more professionalism, Doctor Valentine,” Max sang.

“Fuck professionalism. I’m off the clock until two minutes from now.”

* * *

Joseph Wheeler's head twitched to the side again. 

"How was your morning so far, Joey?" Pegasus asked, tone conversational.

A twitch. "Eh, it was okay."

* * *

_ Tourette syndrome, characterized by physical and verbal tics and twitches, seemingly random in cause and display to the untrained eye. _

* * *

"Just okay?" Pegasus echoed, eyeing the darkening bruise on Joseph's cheek with concern.

"Yeah…" his head twitched to the side, a little more intense now. "Comparatively."

* * *

_ All together, the cause of Tourette Syndrome is a mystery. Not even the leading experts are sure if it's genetic or environmental, though the symptoms increase in intensity as subjects become more stressed. _

_ Unfortunately for Joseph Wheeler, he lived in a  _ _ very _ _ high-stress environment. _

* * *

"Compared to what?" Pegasus asked, and he tapped his pen on the arm of his chair.

Joey, as he preferred to be called, sucked the air in through his teeth, a wet hissing sound. “I mean, like, ya know, other things. Could be better. Could be a lot worse though.” A tilt, that strange twitch.

* * *

_ Generally, it surfaces in childhood and they eventually ‘grow out of it.’ With Joey, it seems as though his symptoms only get worse as he gets older, and it seemed that they didn’t surface until some time after he reached puberty. _

_ Though it may just be conjecture on my part, his symptoms’ severity and frequency seem to have a positive correlation with the intensity of his father’s alcohol dependency -- and often violent outbursts.  _

_ The more the elder Wheeler spiraled out of control, the more the younger did, too. _

* * *

Pegasus did his best not to outright stare at the malignant black and purple splotch on Joey’s face. 

* * *

_ Though I know the injuries simply couldn’t be from his father, lest the man decided to take a trip from behind the grave to revisit his domestic abuse upon his only son.  _

* * *

Joey screwed his lips together, and Pegasus dimly noted that the left side of the upper one was swollen. 

But Pegasus felt the urge to ask. “Joseph, how did you get that bruise?”

A twitch, that hissing sound. “Some fucking idiot tried to mug me on my way here. Bunch a fucking animals.”

Pegasus felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “What? Did you call the police?”

A shoulder jerked up. “Nah. Just some idiot kid. I gave him the what’s what and the who’s who and told him that if I ever saw him trying that shit again he’d definitely be spending a night in the slammer.” 

Pegasus nodded slowly. “Did you see yourself in him?”

A short, tight breath, eyes falling. “Yeah. When I was younger and dumber and mad at the world.” A long inhale. “I mean, I was so close to the edge those days. The point of no return. Right there. You know, once you cross those lines, there’s no coming back from it. The guys from my old gang… They’re all in prison now. Or on parole. Or have a warrant out for their arrest. It’s just… I didn’t want this kid to waste his time on it. He’s got the energy to wrestle someone’s wallet off of them, he might as well put it to something better, you know?”

“I know. I understand what you are saying,” Pegasus said with a slow nod. He took a deep breath, head tilting to one side, but didn’t pull his eye from Joey’s solemn face. “I don’t know if you still have these dreams, but I remember once when you told me that you had dreams where your father didn’t stop. That he didn’t stop when you were broken and bleeding on the floor. Dreams where you died and no one cared, where you were nothing.”

Joseph flinched, and Pegasus felt the guilt twinge at him. 

“Those will never happen. You will never be nothing. You did you best to pull yourself back from the edge, no matter how easy it seemed to just stay there and accept it. You will never be those men, those boys in the bodies’ of men, those rotting in prisons cells or constantly watched by those around you because you seem like a rabid animal on the verge of attack. You won’t be hunted down by the police, on the run and hunted.” 

Joey nodded slowly. “You’re right. And… I… I wanted…”

“You wanted that for that kid, didn’t you? You wanted to give him the second chance that you had to take by force.”

This time, Joey’s nod was firmer. 

“That’s admirable, Joseph,” Pegasus said, genuine. “It’s more than what most people would offer.”

A sheepish grin. “Guess I’m not most people.”

“That much is more than true. Mental fortitude such as yours is hard to come by,” Pegasus admitted. 

* * *

_ I see it all the time with patients. They look down upon themselves for their problems, for their pasts, for the struggles that remain. But many of them do not realize that they are the strongest people that I have ever met.  _

_ Nearly all cultures and societal standards decree that those with mental illnesses are ‘less than’ or ‘weak,’ that they have something wrong with them, that they are broken. And perhaps there is something ‘wrong’ with them. Perhaps they are broken. But never have I met stronger people, never have I met people who come through with so much  _ _ more _ _.  _

_ I think we can all stand to learn something from young men like Joseph Wheeler. I know I do, each and every session.  _

_ If we all used just a little bit of that strength, I could only imagine the wonders it would do to this world. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know TS kinda took a backseat with this oneshot, but I feel like all mental illnesses do, if that makes any sense.  
> They do not define us. They do not make us who we are.   
> I hope to see you next time.


End file.
